


To Quell The Yawning Beast

by Anonymous



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Daddy Kink, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dirty Talk, Incest, M/M, Neglect, Parent/Child Incest, Sad Ending, Spanking, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:00:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25020556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Jaskier is Geralt's son, the last child of Kaer Morhen, perpetually ignored and desperately lonely. The ache inside of him needs filling and he doesn't know how to sate it. Love is what he needs but he doesn't know what love is.In his books it is synoymous with sex. Perhaps that's what he needs from his Daddy?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 15
Kudos: 149
Collections: Anonymous





	To Quell The Yawning Beast

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed the tags they're very important!

Geralt was home. It had been almost two years since his father had wintered at the keep. For a boy of nineteen, those two years had dragged out until Jaskier had thought Geralt might never come home. Okay, perhaps that was dramatic. When he had been eight, Geralt had not returned for five years, and Jaskier had believed that he really had been abandoned at Kaer Morhen, like a lost princess forgotten in a tower. Not that Kaer Morhen was a tower, nor Jaskier a princess, but he felt a strange kinship with the girls in the stories. Locked away for their own good. Forgotten about. Ignored.

Even when Geralt was home, he rarely graced Jaskier with his presence. In fact, most of the time, he preferred to ignore Jaskier. After all, Jaskier was little more than a mistake. Witcher's were not supposed to have children. 

At the very least, a Witcher's son should at least grow up to be a Witcher himself. Unfortunately for them both, Jaskier was born too late to be anything more than a nuisance. Unable to go through the trials, he would never become a full-blown Witcher, never carry two swords or slay a beast. He'd never be human either, not with his golden eyes and fangs in his mouth. He was the worst of the two worlds that had created him, and therefore he was trapped. 

The princess in the tower. Or perhaps, the monster in the basement.

Still, he wasn't a child any longer. He had grown into his height, filled out enough to be lithe, if not broad. In the last two years, he had grown hair on his face and more on his chest and found a fair number of raunchy books hidden in the back of the library. And now Geralt was home, and Jaskier had a plan.

* * *

Geralt wasn't the only one home. Eskel and Lambert were spending the winter at the keep too - and of course, old Vesemir was around, as he always was. 

In a different life, Vesemir might have been like a grandfather to him. Someone steady and learned to rely on. In a different life, he might have become a friend to a Jaskier who had seen the world and enjoyed it to the fullest. To a Jaskier who wrote poetry and absorbed stories like a sponge, he would have been a mentor and a fountain of knowledge. 

However, this was none of those lives.

In this life, Vesemir was many things. A teacher sometimes, but Jaskier was not a Witcher trainee and, so many of Vesemir's skills weren't for him to learn. Rarely, he acted like a father figure. For sure, when Jaskier had been younger, it was Vesemir who had bandaged his bruises and taught him to read, mostly by virtue of being the only other man around. Mostly though, he acted as an army general, or perhaps a lord.

Not that Jaskier had ever met a general, or indeed a lord. He had read many books about both, however, and Vesemir was both lordly in his control and as a strict as any army general. Many times he had boxed Jaskier's ears for causing mischief, and he often sent him to work either in the gardens or the kitchens, merely so Jaskier was out of his way. Truthfully, he much preferred the smacks to being sent away, and he somehow knew it was strange, but it was how it was.

Vesemir had been his first crush too, unsurprisingly. It wasn't strange, considering that the grouchy old Witcher was who Jaskier spent most of his time with. Or at least, who was most often around.

After all, it wasn't as if they spent much time together, other than for an hour in the evening when they ate dinner. Who then, could blame a boy so desperate for one ounce of affection for his desires? 

Of course, he'd been sent away then too, bruised across the cheek, the word child ringing in his ears. It hadn't stopped him taking himself in hand that night, harder than he had ever been before, even with tears leaking down his cheeks. In the year or so since that day, he had only become more desperate in his desires. 

Inside him was this growing need to be noticed, to be wanted, to be seen.

Vesemir had been his first crush, but someone else had quickly taken centre stage. Rather suddenly, the man had taken over his dreams, both those he had a night and those he had during his waking hours. He found himself bathing more often, having to scrub his sheets early in the morning just to avoid a lecture and Vesemir's stern, somewhat arousing gaze.

Even that was nothing on the need that was burning inside him. Silver hair, golden eyes, calloused hands, and a voice both gruff and deep. Jaskier didn't see his father often, had precious few memories of their time together, and yet he couldn't stop thinking about him. About Geralt.

And now - finally! - he was home. 

* * *

He hadn't come to see Jaskier yet. It had already been three days, and Jaskier knew better than to hope in this. Geralt was unlikely to visit him now, and as a child, he might have been upset, but he wasn't (at least in his own mind) a child any longer. 

For many, it was nigh impossible to sneak up on a Witcher and spy on him, let alone try to spy on three, but Jaskier was well practised. He had spent nineteen years sneaking around the walls of Kaer Morhen, learning how to hide his breath and muffle his footsteps. It was easy enough for him to find his spot to watch.

It was high up, Jaskier carefully balanced between two beams, lying on his front. Through a crumbling crack in the wall he could see Geralt, and both Eskel and Lambert too. They were crowded around the fire of the main hall, all three of them shirtless. Jaskier had to work to silence a sound at the sight of them, a little damp with sweat in the firelight. He swallowed noiselessly and traced his eyes along Geralt's broad shoulders, counted the scars there.

_ Daddy _ , he whimpered in the safety of his own mind, feeling his own desire throb through his body. 

Below him, they were drinking. Lambert held out a bottle of vodka and Jaskier fought a grimace, hoping it wasn't the one he'd filled half with water after a session of his own. Hopefully, it wasn't. Even if it was, they were already drunk enough he doubted they'd notice, multiple bottles strewn around the tables and the stone floor. He was too far away to catch the conversation, other than in snippets when they raised their voices to a roar. Still, he gathered that they were talking about exploits and Geralt specifically, a lady who had spread her legs for him. 

Perhaps he should have been jealous, but instead, he found himself growing even warmer on his perch, and he imagined being in her place. It was enough to make him close his eyes for a moment, and he had to focus on staying very still and very quiet. He had no idea what the Witcher's might do to him if he was caught. 

Below him, there was movement and booming laughter. The sound of a hand cracking against a shoulder, or perhaps a back. He didn't dare open his eyes to see. His heart felt like a drum in his chest, he hoped they couldn't hear it. 

Finally, he opened his eyes again, hearing the creak of a door opening. Eskel and Lambert had left, and just Geralt remained. Jaskier curled his hands into loose fists and thought the urge to whimper as Geralt tilted his head back to drink, his throat moving in one fluid motion. The moment seemed to drag on for hours. Jaskier traced a shiny bead of moisture dripping over each curve and felt like his cock might just explode in his pants from this alone. 

Then, with a grunt, Geralt stood. He dropped his empty tankard on the table and left the room without a glance back or around. Jaskier waited and then waited some more before finally dropping down from his hidden perch, landing on the floor in a crouch. He gripped himself through his breeches and groaned at the touch of his own hand, almost letting himself surrender to his need then and there. 

But no, he had a plan to follow. From the bottle of vodka, he poured himself a measure and then drank it for courage. The bitter burn was enough to make his eyes water and took just enough attention off his own arousal to allow him to focus.

* * *

It wasn't hard to find his way to Geralt's bedroom, even in the dark. He always stayed in the same rooms, in the left-wing, on the second floor. As usual, Jaskier had been tasked with dusting and changing the sheets when Geralt had arrived. 

Jaskier brushed his hand over his cheek and couldn't stop his chest aching as he got closer to the door. It was shut tight, no light coming from inside. His cock throbbed and leaked into his breeches, nerves and excitement bundling painfully close. In his dreams, he had done this a thousand times. Each time had ended differently. He wondered what might happen in reality. There was only one way to find out.

He could hear no movement from inside the room. Just the slow, rumbling exhale of breath that indicated sleep. His hands felt hot and sweaty as he reached out to turn the handle. It didn't creak - Jaskier had already assured that with a thorough oiling three days ago - but gave an almost inaudible click when it opened. 

Jaskier was only glad it wasn't locked.

The curtains hadn't been drawn. The moon, though only half full, sent bright light over Geralt's form where it was sprawled across the bed. He clenched his jaw hard enough to make his teeth ache, almost teary-eyed from sheer arousal. Perhaps it was strange to get so worked up just from being close to Geralt, but Jaskier couldn't honestly remember the last time they'd been face to face, let alone the last time they'd touched. 

He curled his bare toes against the cold floor and took one step and then another until he was right by the bed, holding his breath tight. It was dizzying, to know all he had to do was reach out and touch. More fluid, hot and wet, dripped out of his cock to stain his breeches. Geralt looked beautiful. His hair shone bright and silver, his skin so pale it almost glowed in the moonlight. He was still shirtless, and Jaskier drunk in the numerous scars across his chest stared at the pink of his nipples. Unlike Jaskier himself, Geralt had only sparse hair across his body, all of it a muted grey colour.

Had Geralt's hair been brown before or did Jaskier get it from his long lost mother? He didn't know. Had never been able to ask. How much of him had come from Geralt?

His eyes for sure. Vesemir had told him that much. The baby Geralt had arrived with had been born with blue eyes, not unlike the sky. By the time he was five, they had changed to bright cat-eye gold, pupils strangely shaped. Not quite slit like a Witcher's, not quite round like a man's. Jaskier couldn't see Geralt's eyes now, but he knew their colour was the same. The mutations ran through Jaskier's blood. Geralt's cock had made him.

Jaskier licked his lips and slowly sat on the edge of the bed. It was a feather mattress. For years all Witcher's had slept on straw but with only four (five?) of them left it hadn't taken long to gather the birds and pluck enough of them for a mattress each. This close, he could smell Geralt, even through the scent of salt and vodka. It was clean, a little like fresh hay and the earth after rain—a hint of spice.

Jaskier wondered if he would taste the same on his lips, his skin, his  _ cock.  _ Would it all be the same? How strong would it be?

He wanted to know. Had a desperate need to touch. 

Suddenly that need overtook him, he could no longer hold it back. Fingers shaking, he reached out and brushed across Geralt's arched cheekbone, traced down his face. The skin was rough, he could feel stubble growing there. 

He would have screamed when a hand snapped around his wrist, strong and heavy, had he been able to breathe. Instead, all that escaped him was a pathetic whimper. Golden eyes, the same shade as his own snapped open. A low growl left Geralt as their gazes met.

He's  been caught.

* * *

Many people would be intimidated at a Witcher's growl. They would run (or at least try to), and they would do their best to hide. Jaskier however, was a Witcher's son and had grown up in the walls of Kaer Morhen. The only men he'd ever known were really wolves walking on two legs. He wasn't scared of growling.

Instead, his cock just throbbed again. It was leaking near constantly now, straining uncomfortably against his breeches. 

" _ Daddy _ ..." The word escaped as nothing more than a whisper, Jaskier couldn't stop himself from saying it. He pulled weakly at the hand around his wrist but didn't really try to escape. Even if he wanted to, it would be impossible. Geralt was older and faster and stronger than him, and Jaskier was struggling to see through the lust that was coursing through his body.

A snarl left Geralt, and Jaskier found himself being thrown back into the bed, one wrist held above his head in Geralt's hand, the other trapped beneath his own body as he fell with a grunt. 

"What do you think you're doing,  _ boy _ ?" Geralt's voice is low with sleep and anger. Jaskier can see his eyes burning up with it. Before he can stop himself, he's arching against Geralt's body, moaning at the feeling of someone pressed against him.

Not just someone. Geralt.  _ Daddy _ .

He's never been touched like this before. Can't stop himself from wetting his lips with his tongue and he looks up with a breathless sound, flutters his eyelashes as best he can. He's never done it before, but it always seems to work in the books he's read.

"I just wanted to see you, daddy-" He gasps out, trying to grind his hips up because already the pressure on his cock is almost unbearable. His trousers are tight, and Geralt's body is heavy above his own, holding him in place. 

"I find it hard to believe you just wanted to 'see' your...  _ Daddy _ ." Geralt hisses out the last word like it's burning him, but Jaskier pushes up and Geralt-

Geralt shoves down, and his cock is hard too. The feeling of it makes Jaskier gasp, sharp and quick. It feels good. Better than he could have ever dreamt, being stuck beneath Geralt. Being touched. It feels right. 

"I-I just, I wanted-"

Geralt shifts above him. Uses his own legs to force Jaskier's thighs open and Jaskier isn't weak usually, but right now he feels like he's made of jelly and Geralt is so much more powerful. He feels blood rushing to his cheeks and whines as he's spread. Exposed.

"I can tell what you want,  _ boy _ ." Geralt's voice sends sparks down his spine, and Jaskier lets out a sob at being called  _ boy.  _ Geralt's boy, he thinks. He always has been.

"D-Da-Daddy-!" He can barely think coherently, his blood practically boiling in his veins and Geralt has barely touched him. Is just growling and staring through him with his gold, gold eyes. 

Jaskier doesn't protest when Geralt wrenches his other wrist up to join the first even though it pulls painfully at his shoulder. All he can do is moan. 

"Fucking slut." Geralt calls him, and he finds himself nodding despite himself. He is a slut, he thinks, just like all the girls in his naughty books who want to be fucked and used. He's just like them - or at least he's trying to be. 

Melitele, he just wants Geralt so badly.

He didn't expect to get this far. In his dreams, Geralt takes him and uses him and finally  _ sees _ him. In reality, he had assumed he'd get sent away, no matter how much he had hoped. He's never been more glad to be wrong.

"Yes, fuck, I'mma, I'm a slut, Daddy-!" He agrees roughly, swallowing as saliva fills his mouth and threatens to drip down his chin. Geralt smirks at him, but it's not kind or lightly teasing. This is a threat. 

"Looks like you wanted to act like a whore, climbing into bed with your cock already hard, writhing like a bitch in heat." With his spare hand, the one not pinning Jaskier tight, he reaches down and roughly gropes him through the tight fabric of his breeches. 

Jaskier can only sob. He's so hard, so sensitive that it hurts. Brings tears to his eyes. He nods again and shoves his hips up, desperate for more. Right now, even the pain feels good. He's not averse to hurting. 

"Is that what you are,  _ boy, _ a whore?" Geralt squeezes his cock again, and Jaskier wants to scream. He's never been touched before, certainly never been fucked.

But oh, how he wants it.

"Y-Yes daddy-" He doesn't get anything else out before Geralt is flipping him onto his front, face shoved into the mattress until he can barely breathe. It's so sudden he can't even think to react as Geralt roughly rips his breeches down.

Jaskier is bare beneath them,

The sight makes Geralt snarl again, snapping his teeth as he wrenches Jaskier's head back by his hair. Jaskier sobs in pain, in pleasure, lost in a deep-seated desire that he has no hope of controlling. 

"Little slut wants to be fucked, hm? Look how fucking desperate you are-" And he is, Jaskier is so desperate for this. For anything. 

"Yes, yes, Daddy! please, I want-"

He squeals when Geralt drags his hips up and spits on his hole. Tries to reach forwards to at least clutch at the sheets but Geralt lets go of his hair only to drag his hands up. He holds them tight at the small of Jaskier's back and growls in anger. 

"Stay still, boy."

"Yes, I'm sorry-! Sorry, Daddy, I'll be good!" He promises, even though he's never been considered  _ good _ in his life. Never been enough. He can try, though. He's never stopped trying. 

Geralt just grunts in response and reaches down to pull his cheeks apart. Jaskier whimpers and shoves his face into the mattress again, flushing in embarrassment as he feels slick leaking out of him. Remembers awkwardly fingering himself open earlier than evening, moaning into his fist.

Geralt pushes his thumb against his entrance and a deep sound rumbles from his chest. It's bigger than any of Jaskier's fingers, thick and rough with callouses from years of wielding a sword. Jaskier shouts when Geralt forces it inside, and he can't stop himself trying to arch away. 

Geralt shoves his chest back into the sheets.

"Fucking whore, coming prepared. Wanted to see me my ass, you're a lying bitch aren't you?" He bites out, roughly twisting his thumb inside Jaskier, holding him against the sheets. Spit drools out of his mouth, smeared across the rough fabric and tears leak from his eyes.

"N-no, daddy, I'm not-"

Geralt yanks his thumb out only to shove three fingers inside of him. Jaskier wails at the sudden stretch, the burning ache and sparks of fire that course through his body. His hips push back instinctively, and Geralt thrusts once, twice and then-

Jaskier cums over the sheets, his breeches still stuck around his thighs. Tears pour down his face as he moans, utterly overwhelmed as he shakes beneath Geralt, panting out little cries of " _ Daddy _ " and " _ Please _ ". Geralt thrusts into him until he's squeaking and rubbing his face onto the sheets. 

"Daddy, dadddyyy I can't-" He chokes out, tongue feeling heavy in his throat, his hands clutched into tight fists, nails biting into his palms.

Geralt doesn't stop; Jaskier didn't expect him to. It's too much and not enough all at once. All he can think of is Geralt's cock, how much he wants it inside of him.

"You'll take what you get until I'm done with you, boy." Geralt tells him, and he nods because what else is he supposed to do? Geralt is his Daddy, Geralt is in charge of him, and Jaskier would never say no.

"Y-Yes Daddy, please-!" He's cut off as Geralt pulls his fingers out only to slap him hard on the ass. 

"Shut up, boy." He hisses, but Jaskier can't stop the moan that leaves him at the bruising pain that shoots through him.

Geralt raises an eyebrow at the reaction, and then his hand comes down with another hard crack, and Jaskier feels tears beginning to leak down his face.

"Melitele's tits-" The mutter from behind him is quiet enough Jaskier probably wasn't meant to hear it. Geralt sounds both shocked and a little amazed. Jaskier wonders if he's making Geralt proud. He swallows and pushes his hips up, licking across his lips.

"D-Daddy... more, Daddy?" He pitches his voice high and swallows around his need and fights the urge to smile as Geralt groans. And then his hand comes down again and again until Jaskier is losing track of time. Each breath feels punched out of his chest, tears streaming down his face.

It hurts, and he's hard, and he can't even think. All he can do is take and take until Geralt is satisfied. The attention has him soaring. 

"That's it. If you're gonna act like a bitch, you're gonna get treated like one,  _ boy.  _ Gonna breed you up like one too, that's what you want isn't it bitch?"

Jaskier's eyes going wide at the thought and he hears a desperate sob leave his own mouth. He's seen Geralt's cock before, both soft and hard. The hot springs are easy enough to spy on, and Geralt is just too enticing not to watch. His mouth goes dry; he finds himself nodding again.

"Y-yes Daddy! Breed me, Daddy, want you, want your cock Daddy! Please, please give it to me!" Jaskier finds himself trying to spread his legs wider, his cock drooling pre-cum onto the already wet sheets.

Finally, he hears a rustling noise behind him. When he tries to turn his head Geralt grunts and shoves him back into the sheets by his neck.

"Stay still." He grinds out. Jaskier can't ignore the fire crawling through him, it feels like he's gonna burn through his skin. He lets himself sink further into the sheets and mewls pathetically. Geralt squeezes his neck once before pulling away again.

Tears leak down his face. Every inch of him hurts, his ass must be red. Maybe darker. He can't imagine what it'll feel like to sit on, a constant reminder of how he'd been used. Behind him, he can hear Geralt shifting again and then there are hands on his hips. Can feel something hard prodding at his aching hole.

Jaskier lets out a cry when Geralt starts to push in. He's hot and thick and bigger than Jaskier could have ever imagined. The great, yawning emptiness inside of him aches something fierce, but with every inch, it seems to shrink. He lets his face drop to the side and moans, feels drool leaking down his chin. For the first time in what must be forever, he feels alive.

"Such a tight bitch. This is what you were born for, isn't it?" Was it? Jaskier doesn't know. But it does feel right, being beneath Geralt, pinned and filled and owned. He lets his eyes squeeze shut, seeing stars in the dark as Geralt continues to push until finally - finally! - his hips are pressed against Jaskier's bruised ass. 

"Yes, daddy..." His voice is breathless, he's so full it feels like Geralt is forcing all the air out of his lungs. It feels like being complete.

"That's it,  _ boy _ , this is what you need." Geralt tells him, draping himself over Jaskier's body. Hot air puffs out over Jaskier's ear, nails dig into his hips like claws. Slowly, Geralt drags out of him and Jaskier keens as if in agony, the loss bringing tears to his eyes.

"D-Daddy-!" He can't stop himself crying out, and Geralt snarls shoving himself back inside hard enough to make him scream, pushing Jaskier forward on the bed.

"Need my cock, such a fucking whore-" Geralt's words are cut off by a low groan leaving him, and Jaskier moans in agreement, trying to shove his hips back. He wants more. Wants everything Geralt can give him. He wants it now, and he wanted yesterday and will want it forever. It's the only thing that has managed to soothe the emptiness inside of him.

"P-please, fuck, fuck me harder, Daddy!" Jaskier, all but demands and Geralt, complies without complaint. 

The speed builds. Each thrust is hard enough to cause the bedframe to smack into the wall, his cock aches like a wound between his legs. Every part of him feels like it has been set alight, he is a forest fire, endlessly burning. 

"More, more, more-!" Tumbles out of his lips as he writhes beneath Geralt and he can see the end coming upon him and doesn't want this to stop. If only he could live like this forever, the intensity of it blinding. 

Geralt bites down his back, licks at the sweat pooled there. Jaskier knows he'll be covered in marks and he can't wait to touch them, to prod them. To feel them and remember how he got them. He can feel himself climbing higher and higher, and he wonders if this is what Chaos feels like when it courses through the blood. He can't get enough of it.

Time has run away from him. He doesn't know how long it's been, only knows he's close. Geralt must be too, his hips stuttering, hands clenching down and Jaskir knows he'll have bruises along his hips as well, budding under the scratches Geralt has left there. 

Geralt. Geralt is all he can think of, a heavy, sturdy weight across his back, inside his body. He's so close. It's more than Jaskier can ever remember being touched, practically a full-body embrace. His skin feels alive in a way that it has never done before.

"Come,  _ boy _ ." The words in his ear send lighting through him, and he is helpless but to obey. His body seizes and clenches down tight, his cock pulses wetly, staining both himself and the sheets. Around him, the world fades to black. The only thing he can still feel is Geralt's cock inside of him, buried deep.

Geralt groans and cums inside of him, and it feels like being reborn. Jaskier cries because he is helpless to do anything else, melting into the soaked sheets. More cum leaks from his cock as if his body has no more room for it, entirely filled with Geralt's spend. He sinks deeper into the darkness, only crying out when Geralt slowly draws himself out of the desperate clutch of Jaskier's body. 

Jaskier is wet and hot, his knees give out from under him. The world spins around and around in circles as it gets somehow darker. His last thought before he passes out is of how he already misses Geralt. He only wishes he had the strength to reach out.

* * *

When he wakes up, he is cold and sticky and damp and alone. Geralt's room is painfully bright, sunlight streaming through the windows. Jaskier shifts and his whole body aches like a bruise.

The emptiness has already begun to ache inside of him again.

**Author's Note:**

> I know the tenses in this are kinda messed up but I'm bad at them sksksk I hope y'all enjoy this anyway because I spent a good few hours writing it.
> 
> Please kudos and leave a comment if you enjoyed!


End file.
